So Much For Afternoon Walks
by BMRH
Summary: "In the next moment, he had pulled him into a friendly embrace that Sherlock seemed to accept without any sign of discomfort. It's safe to say that my eyes widened the most they have ever done during my lifetime..." On a particularly sunny spring afternoon, Sherlock and John take a walk in Hyde Park and happen to meet someone Sherlock has not seen for a long time. John is curious.
1. London in April

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE**

I'm extremely happy to finally be able to post something longer again from John's POV! Because I'm writing the last bits of my master's thesis right now, the chapters might come infrequent but I'll try the best I can. As always, the stories are short but I try to work all the quality I have into them. This one will consist of three or four chapters, depending in what I decide to do with the last one. What I'm doing in this one is actually something I rarely do; go outside the TV show's canon. It's not about complaining however but rather that I had started this story before season four aired and I liked my version of Victor Trevor so much that I didn't want to give it up. I have taken profound inspiration from the Arthur Conan Doyle short story _The Gloria Scott_ and the context is based on the first scene in another ACD short story that I can't remember the name of. Set somewhere in the middle of season two. As always, I have put some references to the originals in the story. See if you can spot any! As always, you can read it in any way you like. Johnlock, not Johnlock, platonic Johnlock; whatever you favour.

Enjoy this first chapter and let's celebrate that spring is finally here!

* * *

 **Chapter one**

 **LONDON IN APRIL**

It might be the biggest cliché ever but if it's something that I really hate about living in Britain, it truly is the weather. Everyone here knows that I'm not kidding if I say that the autumns sometimes feel as long as spring, summer and winter together. Hell, sometimes even longer! Worst of all is of course the constant raining. When I was a kid, my mum used to tell me that it was God crying down on me because I had been naughty. To this day, I do believe that this can actually be God's work, with the exception that it's definitely not tears. This is God bloody _pissing_ on Britain, probably as punishment for the country and frankly the world being "naughty" as hell most of the time. Well, after all the things I saw during my service in Afghanistan, I really do understand God's decision.

However, there are still those times when God seems to be in a rather good mood and lets the sun visit even this godforsaken place. This day in the middle of April really was one of them. It was the first day of the year that actually even could be called 'summer' and the nature flourished beautifully, almost as if to celebrate that the long British autumn/winter finally had lost its grasp. People were not late to take the chance of getting outside and enjoying the sun in the parks across the city. As you never know how many times God feels like being this forgiving, I didn't want to miss the opportunity either. That's why I, after I had finished a shift at the medical centre, had convinced Sherlock to accompany me on an afternoon walk through the city.

My flatmate was rather unsurprisingly in a frustrated mood when I got home from work. He complained over the lack of interesting cases, all while he sent the solution of a double homicide to Dimmock, a case he had solved on his phone without moving so much as an inch from his cross-legged position on the floor. Now he was restlessly waiting again for someone interesting to walk in through the door or Lestrade to get stuck in one or two of his ongoing murder investigations.

Out of experience I knew that when my friend was in this kind of manic place, it was hard to convince him of anything, at least not in a rational way. Therefore, I was quite pleased with myself that I had actually gotten him to join me. As Sherlock rarely did anything that didn't fill a particular purpose for him, getting out and taking a walk just because it might feel good was not one of his usual habits. However, this was another complex part of him. Some things he seemed to appreciate just because he did, not because of the purpose but rather because he liked it.

One of these things was the city of London itself. Sure, it had an obvious purpose for his work, with that I can agree. It was more than that, however. In lack of a better word to explain it, I dare to say that it was _love_. Sherlock _loved_ this nine million city with all his heart, if he was ever capable of such an emotion. It was obvious to me that he felt most at home here between the asphalt roads, the brick houses and the concrete foundations of our capital. He knew every street, every corner, every property and every stone. Yes, every step he had ever taken through all the city's different alleyways. London was his hunting ground, his home arena, which offered him countless opportunities of crimes, mysteries and brain teasers to keep his racing mind occupied. Sherlock really loved the city and I'm sure he would never have left it of free will of he didn't have to.

Exercise, just for the sake of the exercise itself, he found however to be a waste of both time and energy. The fact that he still stayed in shape both physically and mentally was a mystery to me. Considering his unhealthy eating, sleeping, occasional smoking and previous cocaine habits, it was maybe more of a miracle than anything else that his body was holding up at all. Of course I knew that the human body had a remarkable ability to adjust itself quickly to different situations, his probably more than anyone else's. I envied him none the less for it. I myself seemed to gain pounds just by looking at fried chicken or an apple pie.

After an hour long walk we found ourselves in Hyde Park, an environment which this day was breathing with life and happiness even more than usual. People in all ages, tourists and locals alike, were seated across the green grass, either on blankets with their dogs, running on the gravel roads or playing football or Frisbee with their children. Sherlock and I said very little to each other and walked mostly in silence. Yet the silence never felt uncomfortable, like it never does between friends who know each other as well as he and I already did. Because of the rare heat, Sherlock had for once left his long coat at home. Now he had also taken off his black jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his white shirt. With his right hand holding the jacket and his left hand resting in his trouser pocket, he walked with closed eyes but with his head slightly tilted backwards, facing the sunlight. The calm and content look on his face was proof that it was one of these rare moment when he also seemed able to appreciate the beautiful weather, much like the rest of us "humans".

It was some minutes after we had entered Hyde Park that I felt my phone ring. I wasn't surprised to see that it was Mike. We had taken some drinks the other night and he had been eager already right after we had left the bar to make another appointment. Recently, he was very interested in catching up on me, or quite frankly more on what I and Sherlock were doing with our time. He was obviously quite proud about that he had "paired" us together and therefore was the creator of the famous "Baker Street detective duo" as he sometimes put it. I was however, very much against what I thought I knew about myself, genuinely happy about that Mike and I had started to hang out more. It is few people who will get the privilege to get to know a person all over again after many years. Also, as he had already proven to me, the more people you knew, the more contacts you had and the easier it was to get yourself a crazy flatmate.

As Mike started to talk enthusiastically about the interesting conference which he had attended last week (which I might admit seemed neither interesting, nor exciting at all), I noticed that Sherlock had stopped and seemed to look intently in the direction of a couple on a blanket on the grass. I guessed that he was trying to keep himself entertained during my call by possibly deducing every single person within eye's reach. They didn't look that particularly interesting, I have to admit. It was a man and a woman, the man about my friend's height, quite thin and with blonde hair and a pair of glasses. The woman was clearly shorter and looked like she had some kind of Asian heritage. Nothing out of the ordinary really and I wouldn't have sent them a second look if it hadn't been for the fact that Sherlock had a few moments later still not taken his eyes from them. I didn't get the chance to ask him what it was about them that caught his attention. Before I knew it, he had, to my actual horror, started to walk up towards them.

I didn't even have time to let that horror turn into a proper reaction before Sherlock seemed to say something which made the man notice him. The man rose quickly from the blanket with a surprised look on his face. I tensed. What the hell was he doing? Not even Sherlock used to go straight up to an unknown person and state his deductions. Even he used to have more tact than that and for a moment I was sure that I would have to repair a broken nose within in a matter of seconds. It was therefore to my own great surprise that the look on the blonde man's face changed into a brilliant smile. He took my friend in hand with apparently great pleasure and in the next moment, he had pulled him into a friendly embrace that Sherlock seemed to accept without any sign of discomfort. With that, I think it's safe to say that my eyes widened the most they have ever done during my lifetime...

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE**

You who have been reading my work before probably know that I like to really describe the visuals. It's very important for me to replicate the pictures I'm imagining in my head to the point that the reader can see what I see. Describing Sherlock is one of those pictures that I just love writing and him walking through Hyde Park and enjoying the sunlight must be my favourite description to date! My God, I'm falling in love all over again. Well, I have of course already spoiled who the man is that Sherlock seem to get along with but, yeah, let's find out more in the next chapter.

Please comment your thoughts! Follow & Favourite; do everything you can do! Feedback makes my day!


	2. Victor Trevor

**AUTHOR'S THIRD NOTE**

And I'm back with chapter two, if just temporarily. I have only ten days left until my master's thesis is due and I'm panicking. Anyway, I managed to do the final read-through on this chapter so I'm posting it! Thank you for the reactions on the previous chapter. Again, the same guidelines are still legit about this chapter. Interpret it as you like.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter two**

 **VICTOR TREVOR**

" _What is it, mate?_ " Mike asked in the other end of the line. He must have heard my quiet laugh of disbelief as I watched Sherlock and the stranger release each other. The blonde man seemingly went on to introduce the woman beside him after that and my friend greeted her politely with another handshake.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Can I call you back? Need to know what's going on here."

" _Oh, of course._ " Mike chuckled. " _What're you up to this time?_ "

"I'm not quite sure actually."

" _Well, you let me know later!"_

"Hah, I will! Take care."

I hung up and my focus shifted right away to Sherlock and the unknown couple, now talking to each other in what definitely seemed to be a relaxed and friendly manner.

I raised my eyebrows. With the only exception being Mrs Hudson on some occasions, I couldn't remember seeing Sherlock interact with another human being in the way he now did. When he met someone new, he rarely saw that person as anything else than an object for him to study. With that said, it was still true that he could, against what most people thought, actually be quite polite and very charming at times. This was different however. In this man's company he seemed to be entirely comfortable and the man's reaction to Sherlock made it clear that they had definitely met before.

Who could this bloke be? A relative? No, Sherlock didn't give much for relatives, judging by his attitude towards his brother. More likely an acquaintance then. Maybe a client from an old case? It seemed possible but I remembered quickly that it was still Sherlock I was taking about. Would he really act in this way if it was, thinking about how I had seen him act towards other clients? No, again it seemed too far-fetched. That left few options. Could it then really be something as rare as an actual friend? In fact, could it perhaps be something _more_ than a friend?

I gave up further attempts at deducing. My curiosity took the upper hand and I went to action instead. Tugging my phone swiftly back into my pocket, I walked over to the place where I was most likely to get some answers.

The three of them stopped talking when they noticed me approaching and my plan to make a discreet entrance quickly failed.

"Long phone call." I explained the obvious fact to them and shook my head before directing my attention to the unknown couple. "Sorry, we haven't met before, am I right?"

Sherlock suppressed a laugh, obviously seeing through my forced attempt at trying to sound casual. He introduced me however with a genuine smile.

"Victor, this is my friend and flatmate, Dr John Watson."

The blonde man smiled back at me with enthusiasm and grasped my hand eagerly.

"Victor Trevor. It's great to meet you!" he said happily while shaking it. "Then the blog must be yours?"

"Well, you can say that." I answered and shrugged my shoulders, although I must admit that I was as content as ever with the recognition. Behind me I could almost feel how Sherlock rolled his eyes violently in the background.

"Mei heard about it on the news some months ago so we looked it up and we've been trying to follow it ever since." Victor continued as I greeted the woman.

"It was the only thing he'd talk about for almost a month." she laughed. "You two don't exactly seem to be having a mundane time."

"Well, believe me, that never suited him." Victor assured and pointed at Sherlock. "That much genius should be used for great things. I'm glad you finally get some proper attention for what you can do. It's about time. You deserve it."

My friend chuckled deeply in response but I saw in his eyes that he was quite glad, perhaps even a bit moved by Victor's words. If it was something I had learned about Sherlock since the day I met him, it was that, whatever he might say, he truly liked it when people recognised and were sincerely amazed by how utterly brilliant he was. In that way he was as receptive to flattery for his genius as shallow teenagers were for comments about their looks.

Our conversation was interrupted not long after by another phone ringing out loudly. Mei sighed, made an apologetic face and excused herself. She strode away a few yards with the phone pressed to her ear, speaking rapidly in Chinese.

"My wife is the true genius of us." Victor explained with evident appreciation. "She's the one running the company and handling the paperwork. I just have some good ideas for products once in a while which we find worth selling."

"How do you know each other then?" I asked, pointing between the two men and crossing my arms. "Through a case, or?"

"Oh, no, no. I was in the same year as Sherlock at uni. You can imagine the performance anxiety I had! Quite some time ago now."

"Eight years." Sherlock said.

"God, yeah, it is! The years run away too quickly, don't they? Feels like it was yesterday I watched you absolutely _dissect_ Damian in front of Amanda. Hah, God, I laughed too much."

My friend closed his eyes and snickered, probably remembering the event which his former classmate was talking about.

"Damian was one of the economy students and he was cheating on his girlfriend with Leslie Peterson in our class." Victor explained to me. "Sherlock figured it out through the wrinkles on his shirt and the brand of his hair gel. Oh, the look on that smug lad's face when he was taken down in front of everyone! It was almost a bit too satisfying. You should've seen it, John."

"Discombobulated." Sherlock smirked.

"I _think_ I can imagine."

Before myself I saw the astounded, surprised but definitely most times absolutely furious looks in the faces of the people I had watched Sherlock deduce. My reaction, whether it was me or someone else being deduced, was most times a complex mixture of amazement, amusement and anguish.

"You're staying in England for another week." Sherlock said to Victor, clearly more as a statement rather than a question. Victor noticed this as well. He laughed and nodded in response.

"Ah, yes. Figured the company could survive just a few more days without us. We'll actually go up to Norfork tomorrow morning. Will probably stop by the old man's grave. I feel like it needs to be done, even though I already know that I won't like it."

It wasn't difficult to notice how the cheerful tone in the man's voice almost disappeared completely, together with the brightness in his eyes, when he said this last sentence.

"Your father was a good man." my friend said. With a little bit of imagination, his words could even be interpreted as sympathy.

The other man sighed and closed his eyes.

"Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. Maybe it doesn't matter. He was still my dad."

Victor Trevor fell quiet. For a moment it seemed like his thoughts drifted away. Maybe they actually did, to another place and another time. I glanced at Sherlock for some sort of explanation but he simply looked at Victor, his gaze firm but unreadable to me. I didn't have to be him however to understand that the lack of words meant that he of course knew a great deal about the matter with Victor's father. That fuelled my curiosity even more.

"Well, if you have time, come by Baker Street." I suggested and broke the strange mood that the previous conversation had created.

"Oh, would love to but we have such a tight schedule." Victor answered merrily, now back to his radiant ways.

Sherlock glanced the man over with a quick look, one of those which were barely noticeable if you didn't know how to look for it. He nodded.

"Clearly you have. Don't bother with the Fish'n Chips place by Piccadilly Circus. They're about to change owner. Embezzlement, and of course an occasional murder to cover it up. Fingernails gave him away."

"You're kidding!" Victor exclaimed and threw his hands into the air. "Well, I wouldn't be surprised. Nothing is ever what it seems like apparently. Bloody hell, I was looking forward to that."

"There's another place down on Shaftesbury Avenue, next to the comic book store." my friend continued. "Say my name and they'll give you the food for free. They owe me a favour. Well, in fact, they owe me at least three."

Sherlock began to smile again when Victor grinned and shook his head.

"Probably shouldn't ask about that one then."

"Yeah, don't." I agreed eagerly. With that, I suppressed the "adventure" of the blue codfish into the deepest abysses of my mind again. It was just another reminder that I would probably never get the memory of the stench of rotten fish out of my head. I had chosen to leave that case out of the blog for a reason, as I didn't want to take up my therapy sessions again.

We were interrupted once more by another piercing ringtone, this time again from my own phone. I sighed, wondered if timing had abandoned me completely today and picked up the device from my pocket.

"You're a busy man." Victor said.

"No, that's not it." I muttered while fumbling with the screen which displayed Mrs Hudson's number. "They just find it easier calling me than calling him."

I answered the call and took my leave from the two other men, walking off to where I had come from before. On the phone our landlady began to explain very firmly that she could live with that we kept body parts in our fridge but that we could _not_ use her fridge for the same purpose. As she continued to explain that brain substance had leaked down onto the fruit cake which she had made for Mrs Turner, (an excuse for Sherlock's last inconvenient 'ballistics experiment') I gazed back at Sherlock and Victor. They were now talking again and both of them seemed absorbed by the conversation. My friend smiled and Victor laughed and the whole time I wished I could figure out what they were talking about. It wasn't long however until the man saw his wife wave in his direction and he glanced at his watch. They were probably already late in their tight schedule for the day.

Victor gazed back at Sherlock again but he didn't seem to say anything more. That was until he finally took a step forward and placed a hand on my friend's shoulder. I couldn't see Sherlock's reaction but Victor clearly said something further to him, which I irritatingly enough couldn't hear or read from his lips this time either. Victor did however look genuinely happy. He looked... well, _grateful_ , and even quite affectionate if I wasn't completely mistaken.

 _"John? Are you still there?"_

That was when I realised that it was a while ago since I had stopped listening to what Mrs Hudson was saying.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S FOURTH NOTE**

Oh, who is Victor Trevor and what happened during Sherlock's university years? We'll learn more about him in the following chapters. I must say though that I love my version of Victor. I do wish they could have made him a grownup in the actual show. It had a lot of potential I think. Please, _comment, follow & favourite!_


	3. University Memories

**AUTHOR'S FIFTH NOTE**

First of all, I'm so terribly sorry for the delay of this chapter and the continuation of the story. Deadline for my master's thesis was in May and it absolutely destroyed me. After that I had to spend time preparing to defend it at the final seminar. I must say that I did well though and I got the grade that I wanted, so I'm giving myself a high five. Now I'm back to my fiction writing and I'm just as ambitious with my research for it as I am with my studies. Actually, I'm in London right now visiting a fellow _Sherlock_ fangirl, even though I'm from a different country. Today I walked parts of the route I'm imagining that Sherlock and John take in this fic. That is a bit extra, even for being me but it was awesome.

Please enjoy the continuation of the story!

* * *

 **Chapter three**

 **UNIVERSITY MEMORIES**

Well, to be fair, from what I had learned during the last few months, the sight in front of me wasn't one I had expected to see any time soon. I continued staring fascinated at the two men until Victor Trevor smiled and took his hand from my friend's shoulder. Sherlock raised his own and after a long handshake, Victor headed back to his wife. He waved visibly in my direction as they left and I waved back, all while hearing our landlady finally giving up on trying to reach through to me on the phone. I wasn't too worried when she hung up. There was definitely chance that she might forgive me later when I told her about the afternoons events. Something made me suspect that she would be rather interested.

Sherlock gazed after the couple for another moment before turning around and walking back in the direction of the asphalt path. I stood waiting for him and watched him closely as he approached me. He looked straight ahead, his face blank and unreadable and joined my side without uttering a word or giving a glance in my direction. The silence continued as we resumed our walk through the park in the afternoon sunlight.

"He seemed like a nice bloke." I finally said.

"You sound surprised." Sherlock answered, still looking ahead of him.

"Well, just surprised at the way he greeted you."

My friend frowned.

"How should he have greeted me?"

"I don't know. From experience, most likely with a right hook."

Sherlock glared at me momentarily and rolled his eyes violently. I smiled, folded my hands behind my back. As the subject was now already addressed, I decided to push my luck.

"You've never told me what you studied at uni, or how it was."

"You never asked."

"Well, I'm asking now."

Sherlock glanced at me from the corner of his eye, his manner reserved and sceptical. To him, I guess my curiosity seemed as unreasonable as any other detail about his life that didn't involve his work. However, after a moment he changed his focus back to the path before us. He put his hands into his pockets and his features seemed to relax.

"I studied practical chemistry for two years." he began. "One of the few subjects I found tolerable to actually study together with other people. The possibilities of its value for my work compensated for the negative aspects in this case. Victor was studying computer engineering but took, for some incredibly stupid reason, a chemistry course which made us end up in the same class. He was absolutely terrible at it and once miscalculated gravely on an experiment during a lesson. I happened to stand too close."

Sherlock pulled up his shirt sleeve a bit further and showed me a very faint scar which covered part of the back of his lower arm. It was clearly the result of a burn wound from some sort of corrosive acid.

"I hope you were hospitalised for that."

"I was. Put on observation for three days. Already on the first, Victor came asking for me. Have to admit I was slightly surprised. I hadn't thought him to have any particularly interesting qualities and he hadn't paid any significant attention to me either. After this incident happened, I frankly considered him just another moron."

"How unusual." I muttered loudly while having to stop for a young boy running straight over the path in front of us together with a large dog.

"But Victor kept visiting, being around for at least an hour each day." Sherlock continued, looking slowly after the happy pair screaming with laugher and loud barking as they played with each other. "Obviously it was to relieve his guilt-ridden conscience but our conversations actually became lengthier for each time. As it turned out, he was one of few people in my year that _wasn't_ a complete idiot, having other fine qualities which weighed up for his terrible understanding of chemistry. Even though his constant talk about 'Middle Earth' and some creature he called 'Bilbo Baggins', we also bonded over the fact that he had no more friends than I had. Victor was from the beginning also quite fascinated by my 'Professor X skills', as he for some reason called my deductions, insisting that I would take it as a compliment. It was in any case something of a new experience for me."

I looked at my friend after this first recollection of his university years. His face was however as firm and blank as ever. Mine must have been much more telling, with sympathy for what he had told me about himself coming through stronger than I thought it did. Sherlock sighed loudly, clearly becoming tired of what he found was my all too loud thoughts but continued speaking just as calmly as before.

"After I returned to campus, we actually became quite good friends, the only friend I made during those years. Apart from his studies, Victor spent his free time reading, writing and building software. He also had quite impressive skills in system hacking, a hobby he was less public about than the others. Well, his skills and my logic turned out to be an exceptionally effective combination for this purpose and when we had nothing to do, we entertained ourselves by hacking MI6's security systems from time to time. My brother wasn't too pleased about it."

"Yeah, I can imagine." I assured, picturing Mycroft's stern facade of a face, hiding that he probably screamed internally with frustration when he had received another report of security break. I tried not to laugh but failed anyway.

"Victor was in the same class as you and Sebastian then?"

"Same 'class' is a very generous phrase to use when speaking about Sebastian Wilkes, even in that respect." Sherlock scoffed contemptuously. "Sebastian took an independent course in political science that Mycroft forced me to study, which is how he knew me but he never knew or spoke to Victor."

I furrowed my eyebrows in genuine confusion.

"Why would Mycroft force you to do political science?"

"Oh, back then he was still having his hopes that I could become a potentially important future asset to the British government." Sherlock explained casually.

"Well, he wasn't completely wrong about that."

"I made sure he was."

I turned my head slowly and my eyes fixed on Sherlock. He was now having a strangely content smirk on his face.

"You _failed_ the class?"

His smile widened.

"I did. Gravely. The teacher almost had me expelled."

My frown deepened.

"You failed a university course because you wanted to prove your brother wrong?"

"I failed it because I had no use for it. That it annoyed my brother was a fortunate bonus."

Leaving the green of Hyde Park behind us for the usual grey pavement, we walked past a woman who tried to separate and talk sense into two young girls. Same clothes and the same features; _sisters_ , and they really looked like they wanted to claw each other's eyes out.

I raised my eyebrows. Because I had never gotten along with my own sister, I thought I knew fairly well how complex relationships with siblings could be. Well, that was before I met the Holmes brothers. Should I really be surprised by Mycroft's intentions by forcing his little brother to study, or how Sherlock chose to have his revenge by refusing by all means? Knowledge was power and the Holmes brothers had turned their infinite banks of knowledge into powerful tools to terrorise the other with ever since they were just kids. Thinking about it, I was probably just lucky to still be alive, considering all the times I had been meddling between the two geniuses and standing right in the firing zone. They were so different and still so similar. Both the calm and the storm; both trying to adapt to a world that wasn't fit for any of them. From my experiences, one of them was better at least at disguising that he was adapting to his surroundings. Let's just say that this brother _wasn't_ the one I was living with.

"But you didn't stay in contact?" I continued asking, changing back the subject. "After uni, I mean. You and Victor?"

Sherlock sent me another look as he pushed the signal button for a pedestrian crossing leading onto Bayswater Road.

"No."

"Why?"

"It was complicated."

I pursed my lips as we crossed the street, feeling my curiosity growing wild again.

"Complicated?"

"With his father."

"He didn't approve of you two?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. Again, a smile spread across his face.

"Do you know what is the most common mistake people do when they think they're close to solving a mystery?"

"They become too eager?" I replied confidently.

"Yes." he confirmed. "Too eager and blinded by their confidence in their abilities. It's foolish and very human. Because it makes them–"

At the same moment, realisation hit me.

"Jump to conclusions too quickly..." I sighed.

Sherlock snickered.

" _Exactly_ , John."

I fell quiet and looked away, for a short moment wanting to disappear. Of course, I had let my all too obvious curiosity rule my conclusions. God, who was now the one acting like a teenager?

Sherlock said nothing more and his smile faded. I guessed he probably lost the motivation to tell me more as I was obviously high on gossip, but maybe he simply didn't found it worth lingering on the subject. He might be rude, throwing insults everywhere around him about people's intelligence but most times he didn't hold a grudge for long. His lack of any moral opinions also had its positive sides when thinking about it. It meant of course that he didn't see the reason for bothering about people's feelings at all but it also made him refreshingly free from judgement. To him it was all just data.

"You weren't completely wrong."

My friend's words released me from some of my shame and I gazed back at him.

"Though maybe not in the way you think."

"How then?"

Sherlock raised his chin.

"It's quite a long story." he said deeply.

"I got time."

Breathing deeply, Sherlock closed his eyes again against the sunlight. Maybe he activated his mind palace, trying to find the memories he hadn't deleted from his 'hard drive'? Maybe he simply tried to process memories he hadn't thought about in a long time? When he opened his eyes again, he seemed to have found them. He began to speak and I listened.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S SIXTH NOTE**

So now we know a bit more about Victor but not everything. A bit of a cliff hanger here too then. What do you thing about my characterisation of Victor? I have imagined something of a "nerd" but also, I just wanted to give Sherlock someone to hack systems with on equal terms. What did you think of the chapter in general? I have studied at British universities recently but please do Brit-pick if you find any mistakes! I hope the chapter was worth the wait! Please **Follow & Favourite** and **Comment!**


	4. The Gloria Scott

**AUTHOR'S SEVENTH NOTE**  
Again, I'm very sorry that this chapter has taken a while. First I was in London and then I have started my summer work so there's not that much time over. Also, I'm currently writing my application to the PhD program in history in my town so yes, still not much time left for fic. I'm therefore happy that I can at least conclude this story. The response on the last chapter wasn't that great so I hope that this one will be a bit more pleasing. It's time to learn what happened with Victor's father. Some slight references to drug use, just so you know.

* * *

 **Chapter four**

 **THE GLORIA SCOTT**

"Victor's father was a magistrate and a respected business man." Sherlock began his account as we walked down the crowded streets. "He had earned a lesser fortune some years earlier by a well-placed selling of his shares. I met the man only once when invited during a spring weekend to their summer house in Donisthorpe. Victor was an only child and his mother died when he was still in his young teens. Naturally, he was very close to his father. As it happened, I got slightly on the wrong foot with Mr Trevor when I by coincidence revealed some crucial details about his past. He had wanted me to prove that I was as good at deducing as his son had said that I was so I did what I was expected to do. I didn't know exactly what my deductions meant at that point but Mr Trevor fainted when I was done."

 _And that's what happens when you keep showing off more than you should_ , I thought quickly as we passed another crossing even though I said nothing of it out loud. Now when he finally was talking, I didn't want to interrupt him for the world.

"A few days later, on the day when we were going back to uni again, another man came to visit. From the first moment I found him suspiciously misplaced. Mr Trevor had done some previous charity work but this was different. This was a man he had known even before his investments and well, this Lewis Hudson was truly what you might have described as 'a complete dickhead'. Against Victor's wishes, his father still chose to make Hudson part of the company after we had returned to university instead of forcing him away. Mr Trevor's physical and mental health steadily declined after this. Victor called him on daily basis but finally felt forced to take a break from his studies to go home and help his father. He emailed me a few times in the beginning but as time passed, I heard nothing from him. Then, three months later, Victor suddenly called. He sounded exhausted and said that he didn't know who else to turn to. His father had sustained a major stroke after a suspected panic attack and he was now hospitalised in Norwich. Mr Trevor had been sitting by his computer when it happened and on the screen was only a peculiar email, most likely having been read by the man right before his collapse. Victor had read it as well but it made no sense what so ever to him. He was tired and worried and therefore he begged me to come and help him understand it."

Sherlock stopped talking. From his expression I could tell that he was deep in thought.

"What did you do?" I asked.

My friend straightened his back.

"I took the train to Norwich and arrived on the afternoon the day after he had called. He surely looked different from when I last saw him. He had lost 15 pounds, was severely sleep deprived and exhausted in general. The man I mentioned, Hudson, had apparently driven the company into the ground but even so, Victor's father had insisted on not firing him. Clearly it had taken its toll on both him and his son. Then Hudson had assigned on his own accord. Victor was sure that their problems finally were over when his father suddenly collapsed a few days later.

"After my arrival, we went straight to the hospital and in the waiting room Victor showed me the email. It was only a short text, just 35 words and sent from a 'Mr Beddoes'. At first, there was nothing that caught my attention except for the fact that the structure of the text in itself truly was peculiar, even for being what obviously was a message about the business. But when I studied it further, I found a regular pattern in the way the author had chosen the words. It was a skip code in which every third letter needed to be read to understand the message. Turned out Hudson wasn't only taking advantage of Mr Trevor. He was blackmailing him. Now the cat was out of the bag and Hudson had revealed his side of the truth to the authorities. Suddenly my deductions four months earlier made perfect sense. Mr Trevor hadn't made most of his money by selling shares. Instead, he had a deeply troublesome and criminal past which involved a massacre on the BA 3486 flight to London in 1979, the one the press nicknamed 'Gloria Scott'."

"Oh, I remember that." I said. "The plane was thought to have crashed somewhere in the Atlantic but was never found."

"Precisely."

"But they never found it, did they?"

"No, because it never _crashed_. The pilots and Trevor's associates had been working closely together to do one of the most advanced thefts in modern history. What hadn't been discussed was what would happen to the rest of the crew and passengers. Archibald, which was Mr Trevor's real last name, together with another associate called Evans didn't want to kill them. The others, led by Hudson, weren't as merciful and the theft ended in cold blooded slaughter. Victor's father, Evans and a few others left the scene when an unplanned explosion destroyed the plane along with the dead bodies. Hudson was injured in the blast and would've been a goner if the fleeing lot hadn't been fainthearted and returned for him. He was saved, something that would end up as their fatal mistake. Both Archibald and Evans used the money they had acquired from the event to create new identities and new lives far from their dark past. 'Evans' became 'Beddoes', 'Archibald' became 'Trevor'. The later married happily and after a few years he and his wife had Victor."

I stared at my friend in amazement, absolutely astounded by the story he had told me.

"You seriously deduced all that from the man's appearance and a short email?" I asked, for once slightly doubtful. Sherlock must have noticed the sceptical tone in my voice. His eyes narrowed, his features setting in a stern expression.

"Even if I say I did, you wouldn't believe it."

"Of course I would!" I answered instantly.

Sherlock glanced at me again from the corner of his eye. The look was now more thoughtful rather than annoyed.

"So did I? Did I deduce it?"

I stopped walking and fixed my eyes on him firmly to emphasise my answer further.

"Yes."

He smiled contently.

"What convinced you?"

"Nothing I have seen you do can convince me of something else."

My friend laughed and I smiled back at him, happy to having regained his trust.

"Well, actually there is." he suddenly said. My smile turned into another confused frown.

"What?"

"The story had way too many intricate details and contained a sequence of events which involved people that I couldn't possibly have had any information about. You _did_ notice this, which was clearly why you doubted but you didn't trust your intuition when I started to question you. Of course I did that intentionally. The gameplay behind crime solving always consists of a series of gambits which deliberately uses statements on one hand and facts on the other. What you really have done is never important, John. What's important is what you can make people believe that you have done. That's crucial, regardless of which side of the law you favour."

My face set and I clenched my jaw.

"So you lied?"

"There's a huge difference between a lie and deception. It was you who implied that I deduced Mr Trevor's story from the email, not me. How quickly you all make conclusions. Fascinating, isn't it?"

I sighed loudly as we pushed out way through a group of tourists on a particularly crowded part of the sidewalk. I wasn't really feeling in the mood at the moment for being the average human specimen my genius flatmate could perform experiments on.

"Well, how did you get to know then?"

"It was simple. He told us. Well, actually that was his final word to his son; 'Hotspur'. Again, the peculiarly of the word made me guess the word in itself had no meaning but rather a function. Within a few moments, Victor had found a locked file on Mr Trevor's laptop. We used 'Hotspur' as password and as expected, the file opened and revealed the story of Mr Trevor's life. Just an hour later, a nurse came and told Victor that his father had suffered a second stroke. After another half hour, Mr Trevor was dead."

Sherlock fell silent and pushed another signal button for the red light that would take us from Dorset Street to Baker Street.

"Victor was devastated." he concluded, his voice as flat as it had been during the whole account.

I sighed sadly as we crossed the road, honestly moved by the dark turn the story had taken.

"I bet he was. What a fate."

"Mycroft used to tell me when I was a child that even how much we try we can never outrun the past."

Sherlock breathed in and closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a deep whisper.

"Used to scare me with it. _'Eventually, our past will always catch up with us, little brother. Consequences never disappear. They only wait_.'"

"As if Mycroft wasn't intimidating already." I muttered.

"After what had happened to Mr Trevor, I was inclined for a time to believe him. Let's just say that the feeling was... unpleasant."

"And after that you lost contact with Victor?"

Sherlock nodded once.

"The whole revelation of his father's past, as well as his painful death, was just too much for him to handle and he became desperate to get away from here. Years later I heard that he had moved to China a few months after the funeral to start a new company of computing where he was the main designer. Evidently it turned out well for him."

"Yeah, he did seem to be in a good place now at least."

"He is. Quite well-deserved."

Sherlock paused and closed his eyes against the sun. For a moment I'm sure that I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"It was good to see him again."

"I was glad to hear this, you know." I said after another moment of silence. "About Victor."

"It's a fascinating story."

"Not just the tragic death of his father, I mean."

My friend looked at me and frowned, not seeming to understand what I was getting at. I pursed my lips and tried to figure out how I was supposed to formulate my next sentence.

"I'm just glad to hear that you had someone to talk to." I finally settled on. "To spend time with back then. You weren't… well, you weren't alone."

Sherlock stared at me intently for a moment. Finally his face relaxed and he began to snicker soundly, as if I had said something that was particularly amusing. I grunted in annoyance.

"Okay, what's so funny about that?"

"People always reverse so desperately from loneliness. No one ever understands the beauty of solitude. It highlights your senses, makes you extremely effective. They should embrace it instead, and the world would be slightly less tedious for us who do."

"But come on, who really wants to be lonely? Like they say, it's better at least to have loved and lost it than to never have loved at all."

"Oh, that's beautiful." Sherlock mused wryly. "You should write that to the next girlfriend you break up with. Of course it's an absolute lie. Once people have experienced what the presence of another being feels like, they'll always pathetically grieve that it's not there anymore. The life you once knew and were fine with will henceforth feel empty in comparison. It becomes a fix, an addiction, just as the most addictive of drugs and they'll crave it just as badly, until no other drugs will substitute. No distraction, nothing redeeming, no matter _how much you take!_ "

Even though the sound of the busy city around us, it felt like everything else also fell silent when Sherlock's loud voice did. I realised in the same moment that we had stopped walking and stood immovable side by side on the pavement.

I raised my gaze and looked at his face. His expression was as set as ever but there was a moment, even if just a short one, when I saw that his unusually intense grey eyes were distant and blank. He closed them quickly.

"Sherlock..."

The moment I spoke he turned briskly on his heels, walking straight into a small nearby shop located just where we had stopped. I stayed on the sidewalk outside, watching him the whole time as he gasped something from the shelves and paid the cashier. In that moment I made a decision. I would ask nothing more about what had happened during those years after uni if he didn't chose to speak about it himself. Even how curious I was, even how much I wanted to know. If he wanted me to believe that he had only been using the drugs as a metaphor just now, I would let him have that.

My friend returned a moment later with his buy; a new cigarette lighter as well as two chocolate bars. He put the small metal item into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"I hope you're only gonna burn some radioactive chemicals with that." I warned. He didn't answer and instead threw me one of the bars.

"Come on. I'm an honest man. You know I don't take bribes."

"Who says it's a bribe?" Sherlock argued, opening his own as we continued our walk. "Maybe I just felt like being generous?"

 _Well, that would be a first_ , I thought but quickly regretted that I had. Thinking about what I just had heard that he had done for Victor those years ago, it simply wasn't true. Actually, when thinking about what he had done for me the day he suggested that I'd be his flatmate, and all the other days to follow, it was a _complete_ lie.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Well, you're human after all."

Sherlock murmured in disagreement and took a bite of his chocolate.

"I am my brain, John. The rest of me is just were I keep it."

"Victor was right in any case. You deserve the attention."

"Oh, please." Sherlock scoffed. "If I wanted attention I would've become a detective inspector, or frankly a detective inspector gone rouge on a murder spree. Nothing is as fascinating to the public as proclaimed heroes with dark secrets."

"Yeah, maybe." I laughed. "Still doesn't mean that you don't deserve it. You always have."

Sherlock looked at me again as we passed the final crossing on Baker Street before it was only pavement left to 221. He said nothing more. Instead he smiled.

I smiled back. That day I realised a lot of new things about my flatmate. There was a side of him which didn't help people because he was bored and in need of a fix. Some people he helped because of different reasons. Maybe even because he genuinely cared about them? Victor Trevor had been one of these people, all those years ago. Who knows if there were more? Maybe Mrs Hudson had been another one? What I was, I didn't know. In fact, I didn't really care. Whatever the case, I was still grateful.

The sun had started to go down when we came back to our flat. Our calm mood was however interrupted when the door to the property opened and Mrs Hudson stepped out.

"Sherlock, I tried to call you! There was a man here asking for you but I didn't know when you would be back. I said it wouldn't be too long and that he could wait in the flat if he wanted to but he was very restless and went off before I could say anything."

Sherlock glared at me with some irritation.

"So much for afternoon walks." he complained and brushed past our landlady into the house with resolute steps.

"Did he leave a number? An address? Describe him! His clothes, his manner, his hairline. Quickly!"

I walked into the house a moment after Sherlock, already hearing him search through the property for clues about who the mystery client could have been, all while Mrs Hudson tried to answer his questions. I shook my head. Yes, so much for afternoon walks but even during these times, there never came a moment when I didn't learn something new about my flatmate. Maybe that is what I miss the most, now when he is gone. That there still must have been so much I didn't know about him...

I was thinking about getting in touch with Victor after Sherlock died but Mycroft advised me not to and reassured that he would take care of it. I don't know if he ever did. Victor wasn't in any case attending the funeral. Neither was Molly. Not even Sherlock's parents. Mycroft was there but he never shed a single tear or showed any emotion in general. Most of the time he was on his phone. Lestrade stood in the corner of the chapel, trying not to be too visible. At least I had Hudson sitting beside me, the only one acting like a proper human being that whole afternoon. After the ceremony in the chapel some journalists stood outside and waited to get that final picture, like bloody vultures.

And that was it.

So many people who had written comments on my blog, as well as his website. People who had praised him, raised him to the skies. When it all came down to the end, it was only I and his landlady who were still there.

One year has passed. The grass on the grave has grown thick. Mrs Hudson still visits. I do as well. I don't know if anyone else does. It's hard, so hard and it would be a lie to say that it doesn't hurt me every time. It doesn't get easier; only worse but I keep doing it all the same. I never bring flowers. No, he would have hated that. Instead I just stand there, if only for a short moment. Most times I say nothing but sometimes I do. I stay a few more minutes and I talk to him, tell him about the recent murders in London and how I think he would have solved them. Honestly, I think he knows. Maybe it's just stupid but at least I want to believe that he knows that I'm there because that is what I want to reassure him. I _still_ am, because that is what I learned during that afternoon walk in April.

Not even Sherlock Holmes wanted to be all alone.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S FINAL NOTE**

And that's it. Done, finished. Sorry to end the story on such an angsty post-Reichenbach note with a sad lonely John trying to keep a "dead" lonely Sherlock company.

You who are familiar with the original books will recognise the story Sherlock is telling and many other aspects in the chapter as well. I have tried to do a straight up modernisation of the story of the _Gloria Scott_ and Mr Trevor but have explored how the characters were feeling during that time and afterwards.

So what did you think about the concluding chapter? **Comment** your thoughts, **Follow & Favourite. **


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